Your character has just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As they look around, their gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. They duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? She begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
Branwyn readjusts the weight of her backpack, her eyes studying the candles before darting toward the hag when she spoke, "Aye, uh...came fer work. Prospectin' an minin' ta be specific." she responds, timidly scratching the back of her head, "Worked fer me Ma an' Pa's minin' guild til they decided Ah outta grow little less green". Waddling forward, Branwyn sets down her stuffed backpack, taking a seat on the cushion. "Said, 'Yew grew wit' tha' silverspoon in yer mouth, neva worked ah damned day in yer life'?" Branwyn whines, using her hand as a puppet. "Greedy bastards, was out there diggin' in their fuggin' mine wit' unpaid labour. Ain' nepatism if yer jus' takin' mah pay" the dwarf pauses for a moment, her annoyed expression fading as she feels the palms of her hardened hands, "But...ah think this coul' be good fer me. Never done too much travel before an' tha' road been pretty nice. 'ad some pretty good company too."
Looking back up to the hag, Branwyn's eyes widen in realization, "Ah righ' Ah'm Branwyn Dimdelver...but ah yew said yew- was ah expectin' me?"
